


Miller's Last Night

by Anti_Mattering



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Delicious Water, Gen, Guns, Implied/Referenced Torture, Probably Pretty Sad, Shooting Guns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:59:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25398049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anti_Mattering/pseuds/Anti_Mattering
Summary: Miller has a rough night and all he wants is a glass of water.
Relationships: Kazuhira Miller & Ocelot
Kudos: 6





	Miller's Last Night

Waking up in the middle of the night feeling threatened was nothing new on the part of Kazuhira Miller. Just about any soldier could relate to this on some level. However, once that initial sense of alarm passed, he began to feel something else. Something didn't seem right here.

He found himself unable to settle, a growing unease gnawing at the back of his mind. With a sigh, he sat up in bed, retrieving his sunglasses from the table beside him and placing them on his face. Strapping on his leg and taking his crutch in hand, he stood up and hobbled towards the kitchen in a drowsy haze.

Each footstep echoed through the dark and lonely house as he navigated the well-tread path from the bedroom towards the sink, his prosthetic clicking against the wooden floor as he made his way closer and closer to the relief of an ice-cold glass of water.

Water always felt different after Afghanistan. He'd only ever been given just enough to keep from dying while they tortured him, always mixed with something fowl and kept at room temperature just so he couldn't even enjoy it. By the time that man finally came to break him out, they'd stopped letting him drink entirely.

Since then, he always made sure to savor every glass. Though he'd never really talked to anyone about it, he'd always assumed that people who were stranded on some deserted island or the like would be able to understand these feelings. You never really know what you have until you've been forced to go without. That, too, was a feeling he was intimately familiar with by this point.

Passing through a sparsely furnished living room, Miller came to the kitchen. Beside a set of four burners was a sink, above that being a few cabinets. He opened the door on one and retrieved a clear glass, placing it under the tap and turning on the water. The pipes groaned for a moment before the liquid streamed out, filling it in only a few seconds.

Turning the handle, he shut off the water. The glass felt cold in his hand, condensation already forming on the outside. He inhaled slowly, placing the glass down next to the sink on his right as he let out the breath. It didn't calm him as he was hoping, the reason for that standing behind him in the dark as he now noticed. "It's been a while."

"I'm almost surprised you remember me," a low voice replied accompanied by a quiet twirling noise. "How long has it been? About 20 years by now, I'd say."

"And can you believe I kept my good looks this whole time?" Miller asked sarcastically, taking his crutch in hand to turn around and face the man. "Can't say the same for you, though, Ocelot. Age hasn't been too kind to you." Who else could it have been, after all?

He laughed at this. "Not so young anymore," he agreed, revolver still spinning in his right hand. He caught it, pointed it towards Miller, then started the spin back up in reverse. "As much as I'd like to catch up, I do have a schedule to keep here."

"I figured," Miller said, whatever hint of a smile he had before fading as his lips pressed into a line. He had no delusions that this was merely a social call from an old associate, though he had hoped he could stall for at least a bit longer. "So, do I get to ask why? I've been retired ever since Zanzibar. What's Cipher – or, what are they calling themselves now, the Patriots? – want with a washed up old man like me?"

"Not them," Ocelot told him. "This is for the son."

"Eli?" He was actually taken aback by this. "So he…" He shook his head. "I guess it doesn't matter. Still, I am curious. What's the point in killing me? And if you're here to do it yourself, it must be a pretty important job."

"Don't kid yourself," he said. "We couldn't trust anyone else to do the job right. You're a dangerous man, Miller."

"I guess that's a compliment. Or something close to it."

Ocelot caught his gun in hand, holstering it on his hip. "Between you and me, I think it might have been a little personal with the kid. I actually talked him down from coming here himself. Thought you might prefer a more friendly face to be the one to see you off."

He scoffed. "Friendly, sure." Miller sighed, slowly piecing everything together. Though he couldn't understand the specifics, everything Ocelot had said up to this point indicated that the time was finally nigh for a confrontation between Boss' sons.

Funny, he still called him Boss from time to time. He thought he'd broken that habit by now.

"I've got a few minutes," Ocelot said. "I'll do you the courtesy of letting you get dressed if you want. It would leave a bad taste in my mouth to kill a man in his underwear."

"I think I'll pass," Miller said. "That glass of water still seems nice, though. Pretty thirsty." Ocelot nodded to him, watching as he slowly reached to the side to take the water in hand. Relaxed as he was, he wasn't letting his guard down. There was no opening for an escape or a counterattack.

Placing the glass to his mouth, he began to drink. Freezing liquid passed his lips and ran down his throat, a small sense of calm restored to his busy mind. To say he was afraid wouldn't exactly be accurate; it was more like he couldn't help but try to plan some kind of action. Logically, he knew he was going to die here, but old habits were hard to quit.

It only took a few seconds to finish the glass, Miller sighing contentedly as he moved it from his lips. "Something about the water up here," he said. "It's nice. Crisp and clean."

"I never noticed," Ocelot replied.

"You wouldn't understand," he said, shaking his head slightly. With another sigh, Miller lowered the glass to the kitchen counter. Then, like lightning, his arm swiped forward, knocking it towards Ocelot and throwing open a drawer filled with silverware. His hand reached inside, fingers curling around a small snubnosed revolver buried under a pile of brown takeout napkins.

Miller would never have a chance to fire the gun, let alone aim it. In a single swift motion, Ocelot had drawn his gun, cocked it, and shot straight through the glass and into the center of his old ally's chest. He crumpled to the floor like a ton of bricks as shattered glass rained across the kitchen, the drawer coming with him and spilling utensils onto the floor with a crash.

"Almost," Ocelot told him, spinning his revolver before holstering it and walking towards the convulsing Miller. "Almost." He patted his shoulder, kneeling down as the last few flecks of light left the man's eyes.

With both hands, he lifted the glasses off Miller's face, folding them up and placing them in an interior pocket of his brown duster. Ocelot stood, turning and making for the door. As he pulled it open, he looked back over his shoulder one last time. "Till we meet again."

**Author's Note:**

> Haven't been able to write much lately but I felt like getting something out in the hopes it might help me along. I decided it should be this.
> 
> It's always felt kind of odd how no canon source has just come out and confirmed Ocelot was the one to kill Miller. It's good drama and he's the only one who could have done it. Novels don't count.
> 
> I don't know if Ocelot would have actually been this sentimental when he did it, though I feel like there's a chance. Even for him, killing a guy he's worked with and known for so long probably made him feel something. Basically the only other person who could have understood his feelings towards Big Boss all those years ago even if they never really got along. Tragic.
> 
> Not much else to say right now. Thanks for reading. Share if you enjoyed. Always remember to carry five bullets in your old revolvers since accidental discharges from being jostled around over a loaded chamber are pretty common on a Single Action Army even when you set it on the safety notch.


End file.
